


Long Days

by OnceNFutureDork (PunnyMints)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Confession, F/M, Kissing, One Shot, Reader Insert, im soft, kill me, oh no here we are again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:21:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27454174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PunnyMints/pseuds/OnceNFutureDork
Summary: She's always had eyes for the Marshal, but she doubts he has the same feelings for her.
Relationships: Cobb Vanth/Reader, Cobb Vanth/You
Comments: 6
Kudos: 50





	Long Days

She had been in this village since she was four, and she was going to stay here forever. She had been born into the life of working, handed a tool as soon as she could stand, and shown a way to work. With a grimace, currently, she leaned back on her heels and pushed her hand over her fair, examining her work. She stood, sharply, glancing back behind her to examine the broad landscape. 

Of course, there was nothing. This desert was flat and empty. Aside from the occasional sighting of the occasional sand person, there really was not much to get excited about out here, up beyond this basin of dust and dirt.

The woman had been out here all day, messing with the moisture vaporator that was currently not working, it had shut down on her three times, smashed her fingers, and was overall being a very dickish vaporator. From what she could detect, the only thing that she could see that may or may not have needed some kind of fixing was the liquidating processor. With a sigh, she propped her hands on her hips and swiped the back of her palm over her forehead. 

The vaporator went straight to the school. Those kids needed as much water as they could get. At the thought there was a little twang in her chest as she reached down to her belt for the leathered water skin she kept hanging there- she knew all too well what it was like to grow up hungry, to be thirsty, to be not only in want but in need. If water would help these kids stay in school, learn, and get what they needed to get off this planet, then water was what she would make sure they had.

She stood from her aching knees, taking off her mechanical gloves and shaking her fingers harshly, in hopes it would restore a sense of feeling. As the sensation crept up her knuckles, she walked slowly back towards town, humming to herself.

As she walked she turned backward. Towards the dune sea, just to watch the steps she made in the sand. How long the path was, how lonely her footsteps were, all alone.

The young worker, hand now fully functioning, shifted her directions back towards the town, stopping as she rounded over the top hill. The wind scraped against her back, shoving her loose strands of hair around her face, and whipped them wildly around her cheeks and nose. The years of working in the sun had made her hair lighter than it should have been. If it wasn’t for the dual suns of this forsaken place, she would have had stunning dark hair. Instead, it was a jarring change from the natural dark roots close to her scalp to the sun-bleached fainter shade, damaged as long as she allowed it to stay.

It made her feel a little lesser than. She wanted to crop it all, but she was more attached to her long hair than she was discouraged by the dead ends. Not many people around here had longer hair, not around here, at least. 

She bent down and picked up the glove that had fallen out of her pocket, approaching the town. The best place (to reiterate: the least sketchy place) to get reliable parts within the day for machines was Mos Eisley and Toschee Station. 

It was starting to get cool, at least cooler. This meant that the sun was beginning to go down and evening would soon be upon Mos Pelgo. The Tusken Raiders would test how close they could get to the town, before being spotted by whoever was on patrol and shot at. She had woken up three times this week to alarms being raised.

Three years. It had been three years since bandits had come and raided the town and were chased off. Her father had been shot and killed in the bar that night, and her mother died of sand sickness not long after. It had been hard, still was hard, just trying to fight through returning to an empty home. 

With a sigh that was longer than Beggar’s Canyon, she hiked up the steps of the bar and walked in, scratching her hair. “Nectrot, please.” Out of habit, she stomped her feet off at the door so she wouldn’t track sand in (not that it would help anything, this was a sand planet and not many people had the same habit of politeness as her) and ducked in, walking over and leaning on the bar. “But not too strong.”

The Weequay behind the bar nodded. “Any news on the vaporator?” He turned and grabbed a shorter glass and set it on the counter.

“Yeah. Unfortunately, there’s news.” The girl blew a huff of air from between tight lips. “Liquidating processor’s shot. I need to get that part soon, or else the whole damn vaporator’s donna bust.” With a ready hand, she caught the glass that was slid to her and easily downed the shot. Despite the distance, the Weequay always got his hands on the best stuff he could for this town.

That was the one thing she would never be able to replicate. After the Red Key raids, the murders, the sheer tragedies this town had struggled through, the citizens that survived had banded together. The adults all took shifts patrolling the outskirts of Mos Pelgo for any signs of trouble and volunteered alternating weeks to make supply runs. Everyone here really cared about one another. When both of her parents had passed in such a brief period of time, everyone had come by with food, drinks, words- even if it hadn’t been much, she was positive everyone had been sure to come by and give their condolences to her, saying they were sorry for her losses, opening their homes to her, making sure she didn’t have to interact with the bodies if she didn’t want to. The gravediggers had made sure to bury them together and place heavy stones on their graves so skettos or dune hyenas didn’t come to the gravesite. 

It was the Marshal who had dug their graves. Cobb had gone outside and dug them, buried them, covered them, and then led her to their gravesides. Vanth had been kind when he did directly interact with her, but for the most part, he had kept his relative distance. Otherwise, it was a smile shot in her direction and a chipper wave. 

Quietly, she moved a finger around the rim of the glass, propping her chin in her other hand. “Can I use your speeder? I need to go get that part.”

“Now?” The Weequay looked up, shock written on his face. 

“Look, the vaporator is for the school. I can’t let the kids go without that much clean water.” She chewed on her lower lip, grimacing at how it stung. “I’ll refill it when I’m in Anchorhead. And I’ll see if I can find more of that good whiskey.” She drew in a breath and grimaced. “Please. I need to get that fixed. For those kids.”

Hesitating fingers took the empty glass she had slid back to him. “The Marshal’s not gonna like that. Someone going out this late, not with the Raiders getting so close.”

“I know, I know.” The mechanic stood and accepted the speeder bike access key that the bartender held out. “Just… don’t tell him. If he asks, I’m patrolling the vaporators on the North side.” She stood, nodding graciously at him before walking out.

Her steps on the stone surface of the deck tapped under her soft boots as she moved around the side of the building towards where the weequay kept his bike parked. She knelt down to unlock the magnetic security belt around the bike.

As she fumbled with the card scanner (“Stupid old thing,” she muttered), she hummed to herself in frustration. 

“Need a hand?” 

The sudden voice made her jerk her hand up, catching her hand on the lock and pinching it between the magnets. “Ow!” She hissed, standing. “What’s- Oh. Marshal.”

Cobb smiled, still standing up on the deck of the bar, leaning on the outside wall and watching her. “Your hand okay?”

“Yeah, it’s fine. Just- hi.” She grinned sheepishly, access card still in hand. “It’ll be fine. My hands have dealt with worse.”

“Mm,” The sheriff’s voice was deep and rich, everything she had ever imagined the ocean was like. “You stealing a bike?”

With a chuckle, the mechanic squatted back down and went back to trying to work with the lock. “Ha! You know it, Marshal.” She grimaced a bit, hand shaking as she tried to fit the card back in the slider, which has suddenly decided to not cooperate. “What are you gonna do, lock me up?” 

The green of his armor shifted in her peripheral vision as he jumped off the deck, walking towards her and the bike, hands resting by his belt, thumbs tucked into the holsters leisurely. “Yeah, maybe I should.”

_ That doesn’t sound so bad. _

She chose to laugh it off and shake her head instead of making eye contact. Looking down at the lock, being distracted, would keep her from staring at his eyes. She could melt and come together in those eyes, all at once become jelly-kneed and fully broken. “A man of humor, too. Jack of all trades?” She sighed and frowned at the card, rocking back onto her heels and staring at the card. “Useless,” The mechanic frowned.

“Here,” The sheriff squatted down across from her, reaching a hand out. “Let me have a try, darlin’.” 

Oh, she would let him try. If he called her darling, she would let him try anything- this bike, taming a bantha, attempting the aforementioned  _ locking up _ \- Quickly, she shut down her internal school girl and held out the key. “If you think you can.”

He looked up at her face, catching her eye, and gave a quick smile as he accepted the card. “Can you hold up the lock?”

“Yeah.” The mechanic reached down and grabbed the lock, holding it up to where Marshal Vanth could easily maneuver the card in. “You have to help a bunch of people with their bikes?”

It was a mistake to look up at his face. He had his lips drawn back, tongue out slightly, and grunted a little as he attempted to work on the lock. “Only when they’re on shit bikes with shit locks.” 

She examined his armor. It was odd enough to her. He wasn’t a very broad-shouldered man- not to say he wasn’t well built, she thought, face warming somewhat- so the armor lost its full intimidating effect on her. The green paint was scraped off, and the metal was clearly worn, but when Cobb Vanth was in the armor he was just like a God. His confident strut, his firm stance, even the way he puffed out his chest, it exuded such certainty, such grit.

Without intending to, her eyes flicked up to his face, which was towards her. And looking right at her. She blinked, clearing her throat, as Cobb grinned again, one side of his lip twitching up into a cheeky grin. The crow’s feet next to his eyes wrinkled, and he chuckled. “See something you like?”

Abruptly, she turned her face down to look at the lock. “Oh, you did it.” She stood up, swiping the key card from his loose fingers, tucking it into a pouch on her belt. “Thank you, Marshal.”

“Where ya going?” Cobb stood, brushing his hands together. “It’s pretty dangerous to go anywhere alone right now.”

“I’m heading out to just check on some vaporators in the East sector.” She threw a leg on over the bike seat, settling down into it. “I won’t be gone long.”

A weight shifted her and the bike over to one side, and she turned to look at the source of the weight. The Marshal’s boot was pressing down, onto the side of the bike, and he tilted his head, which was dangerously close to hers. “Want me to come?” The words, his tone, was full of genuine concern. 

“No, Marshal. I’ll be fine.” She grinned at him, kicking up her boot and gently nudging his off the bike, leaning comfortably. 

Before he could ask more questions, she kicked on the motor and was off, making her way across the dune sea.

Cobb stood on the dirt for a moment, watching the shape of the bike vanish, and he chuckled, arms crossing and shaking his head. First, he had to finish this patrol. And then, he would get himself a drink.

_____

After picking up the correct part and a half-decent bottle of whiskey, the mechanic filled up the bike, as she had promised. She climbed back on, grimacing at the now dark sky, and kicked the bike off again. 

Another one of the few things she enjoyed about Tatooine was how open it was, how harshly she could push speeders to their limits, and not worry about running into anyone or anything. She felt like she could outride anything.

She paused, slowing down her bike as she approached a shape in the distance. It was too late for anyone else to really be out. The faint light from the three moons surrounding Tatooine showed a dim outline of a large, slow-moving lump- a bantha?

The bike came to a full stop. The mechanic dropped her leg down and rested her foot on the ground, observing. She squinted. Banthas usually traveled in packs-

A guttural howl sounded next to her, too close for comfort. Sand people didn’t need to get close. Not this close. Not as close as this one was, currently swinging its gaderffi staff. “Shit!” The mechanic squeaked, kicking her leg up and away before falling off on the other side of the bike.

She sat up, crawling backward and attempting to scramble up as the Raider smacked its blunt weapon against the main engine. That wasn’t hers. Sure, it was a shitty bike, but that didn’t mean the Weequay deserved to lose it. The people of Mos Pelgo looked out for each other.

It was not courage, but anger, that surged through her veins, which were soaked in sand and sun, and she gritted her calloused hands into fists. “Hey!” She ran at him, getting as much momentum as possible in her body. The warrior turned to her, half-off guard, before she rammed against him and landed on top of him, her hands grasping at his staff. She grunted, pushing it away, even as he kicked over and straddled her. On the bottom now, the mechanic grasped tightly to the handle of the gaffi stick, refusing to let go.

Her teeth gritted and she began to lose grip, straining to sit up, fear and adrenaline flooding her system, blood rushing to her ears as one hand lost its hold, then the other. “No,” She sat up, trying to get a new hold of the weapon as the sand raider moved it up above his head. “No!” She snarled, trying to claw at him, grab at him, anything.

A fearsome sight it was, the aggressor over her, bandaged features and disbanded metal goings and piercings jutting from his wrapped face as he passed a few victory howls, the silvery glow of the moons illuminating the edges of his shape. He arched his gaffi up, both of his hands tightening-

Suddenly, the weight was off of her. Next to her, tumbling in the sand, was the Tusken Raider and a half-armored man, the scruffy green paint barely detectable in the dull night. She sat up, scrambling for hr bag. Her pistol, it had to be in here-

There was a grunt, and then a blaster went off. Shuddering, the mechanic turned, fingers on the trigger of her blaster, gun up-

“Easy, easy.” The marshal was now standing, blaster out of his holster, lowering it from the limp Tusken raider. He was walking towards her, face unreadable through his visor, a hand reaching up as if he was soothing a fussy dewback. “It’s okay. It’s dead.”

Her hands were shaking, finger moving off the trigger. Her mouth opened, then closed, then drew into a tight line. She dropped her gun to her waist, turning to tuck it back into her bag. “I think the bike is busted.”

Cobb was silent, helmet still fixated on her. She felt his eyes, his glare, burning her. “I’ll need to hook it up to yours. You’ll need to drive me back to Mos Pelgos.” 

Without a sound, Cobb marched up to her and took the dragging line from her hands. Under his helmet, this bucket, a storm was brewing. Heat built up behind his eyes, in his face, and his teeth ground into his cheek. He wrapped the line around the back of his bike. “You’ll have to ride with me. That bike can’t take on much more weight.” He motioned her to climb on, straddling onto his seat.

The mechanic had gone quiet, eyes cast downwards. She shuffled over and sat down behind him, her thighs squeezing under his and legs hooked under his. She wrapped her arms around his armored chest, and Cobb attempted to take in a deep breath to keep his heart from bouncing in his ribs. He flicked his wrist to start the engine. Under different circumstances, he may have enjoyed her warmth, her arms, the way her legs squeezed when he sped up- a little bit more.

______

Cobb walked her into her domed house, yanking off his helmet as soon as she had shut the door and set down the bag of her goods. He slammed the helmet down onto the counter and pointed a finger, storming towards her, face flushed. “What the  _ hell _ were you thinking?” He growled. “You went out, alone, to who knows where, at this time of night, on a shitty bike that’s on the verge of breakdown-”

“I had to get a part of the vaporators.”

“Oh, yeah. While we’re talking about vaporators, which- by the way,  _ this is interesting _ .” He moved closer to her, finger jutting out, brows furrowed. “You lied. You lied to me and you told the barkeep-”

“He snitched?”

“Of- of course, he did!” Cobb snarled, striking his hand towards the door, in the direction of the bar. “When it got dark and you didn’t return his bike, he was worried sick!” Cobb’s gloved hand pressed back against his own chest. “Hell, I was worried sick!”

“I know, I’m sorry.” She hissed, face red in the one light that she had a habit of keeping on in the kitchen. She had a lot of habits, Cobb had noticed. She chewed on her lips too often, and up-close now, the marshal could see how her supple bottom lip had split, and she had a habit of running her hand over her loose whisps of hair that blocked her cheeks from the kiss of the cruel suns. Her aggression retreated, and she stepped back from him. Her eyes were staring at the wall, the kitchen light, fixated on anything but him. “I had to get a part for the vaporator.”

“Why couldn’t it have waited?” Cobb crossed his arms, the venom causing his body to shake. His drawl emerged, stronger with strong emotion. “What’s worth dying over? A- a bottle of whiskey and a vaporator part, for one vaporator?”

There was a moment of silence, discomfort settling in between the two of them. Slowly, as if centering on strength, drawing it from inside her, she tore her eyes away from the wall and dragged it up to his face, breath shaky as she caught his eyes. Shaky, but her gaze was certain. “It was for the school’s vaporator, Cobb.”

The sheriff tilted his head back, understanding sinking in. “Ah.” He rocked on his feet, eyes still locked into hers. “I see.”

Her shoulders shook, and with her eyes still fixated on his, welled up. “I- I’m sorry, Cobb, I didn’t mean- I didn’t-”

Cobb’s heart shuddered in his chest. “No, no, I’m sorry. Come here.” He stepped in towards her, arms uncrossing and moving around her. His chin settled comfortably on top of the crown of her head as she sniffled, arms tight. “I was scared, I’m sorry.” He pressed his mouth into her hair, which smelled like the sun and freshwater, sweet and free. “I shouldn’t have fussed, darling.”

The mechanic nestled easily into him, wet face pressing into the silver scruff on his neck. “You- you came to find me-” Her voice throbbed. 

The sound made the ever-so-tough marshal’s heart tremble, vibrato with sympathy. He pulled his head back and looked down at her, chin brushing her forehead to encourage her to look up at him. “Of course, why shouldn’t I?” He mumbled, turning his head down to press his nose to her forehead, lips exhaling heavily. “I look after yall.”

She sniffled and turned her head up more into him, arms sliding from around his armor to settle on his wrists, which now settled comfortably on her sun-stained hair. “You do,” Her voice was hoarse. “You look after us.”

Cobb chuckled, pulling away for a moment, eyes scanning her tear-stained face. “I try,” His words exited more hushed than he intended them to be. “I try to take care of folks I care about.”

Against him, she giggled a little, her hand moving off his wrist to wipe her face. “You care about me, huh?”

“More than I oughta,” Cobb mumbled, his thumb moving over the arc of her cheek. “Much more than I oughta, little miss.” He smiled down at her, the crow’s feet by his eyes appearing again, a sign of a genuine grin. 

She caught his eyes darting down to her lips, and she inhaled heavily. “I- I have that effect on people.”

“You’re telling me,” Cobb’s voice was muffled as he leaned down, lips pressing against hers and hands scraping back through her hair. 

She was thoroughly surprised at his soft his lips were. She inhaled, surprised, but moved her hands up to his long strands of hair and crumpled her fingers in it, arms wrapping around his head tightly. The mechanic mumbled against him, without enough willpower to move away and repeat herself, so she settled for a satisfied hum against him. His fingers moved down to her jaw, cupping it, lips pulling away for a brief moment only to rush out again and meet hers as if deciding that no, he had not quite had enough. It was incredible to him how in tandem, how in sync their mouths moved and reacted to one another.

The mechanic was the one to pull away, allowing the marshal’s mouth to impatiently follow hers for two, three more kisses, before she pressed her finger against his lips. “It’s late,” Her voice was soft, her breath was warm against his chin, and he pressed his lips to her pointer finger, eyes lazily cracking open to stare at her. “We both had pretty long days.”

“Right,” Cobb nodded and turned his face to nuzzle her hand, kissing her palm. But he still didn’t move, and she let him stay there. “Right, long days.” 

A chuckle exited her throat as she dropped her hand to his shoulder. “People will talk, Cobb.”

“Let them,” He sighed, wrapping an arm around her waist, and dropping down his head to catch her giggling lips once again.

**Author's Note:**

> i was gonna make this more ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) but i don't know how to write steamy things oh ho ho


End file.
